Let It Burn
by Imaginary Peanut Butter
Summary: The first time James heard another Marauder cry, they weren't even Marauders yet. A series of Marauder-centric oneshots, rated for language in chapter 5 onwards.
1. Friendship

_This is a bit different from my usual style - an experiment, I suppose - so I'm not too sure what it's like. I think I quite like it, though._

Friendship seemed to come so easily to other people, Peter thought; like mixing together two colours of paint to create something different, something which, though clearly the product of those two colours, was altogether prettier than they had been alone. That Snape boy was completely awful by himself, yet when his dull green was mixed with Lily Evans's bright yellow, a light lime green was produced: a sharp, eye-catching colour which was not so bright as to be unpleasant. Their friendship, too, was clearly unexpected – Gryffindors and Slytherins, after all, didn't interact on principle – though something about it seemed to make sense.

James Potter and Sirius Black, too, were just colours mixed together on a paint palette. James, a vibrant Gryffindor red, full of fire and brilliance and the sort of bravery that comes from not _thinking_; Sirius, orange, rebellion and brightness and a scream of _'I'm different!'_: together a lighter red, a darker orange, a strange mixture of the two which inspired images of a flickering flame, something burning and somehow dangerous; yet comforting, warm, even friendly.

Peter had been watching these others jealously, wishing for someone to share his own blank, clean white with. He wondered how it would look with Remus Lupin's yellow (friendly, helpful, open): would it be merely a lighter shade of Remus's own colour, or would it turn more of a mediocre cream? Perhaps, when he'd befriended Remus, the pair of them could join up with James and Sirius to create something bigger than a mere mixing of colours – the four of them could be a _painting_; whites and reds and oranges and yellows streaked across an easel in a raging inferno. Peter wasn't sure whether it would be a pretty, warming bonfire or a destructive forest fire; but he thought that he could only find out by letting it burn.


	2. Shades of Grey

Remus always had seen things in shades of grey – unlike James, who'd only seen black and white from the start. To James, the world was very simple: people were either evil or they were good; Slytherin or any of the other three houses. His uncomplicated upbringing hadn't given him any reason to think otherwise, and upon meeting Remus and Sirius, the good werewolf and the only white sheep of the Black family, he'd merely adjusted his viewpoint slightly so that, unless you were a Slytherin or a Death Eater, James would place you straight into the 'good' side, and only move you if you proved to be particularly bothersome.

Remus, on the other hand, had a more complicated view of the world_. _He thought this came from spending one night a month as a murderous beast – however lovely he was the rest of the time, the murderous tendencies surely made him a little darker than he would have been otherwise. Remus could see that not one of his friends was as purely good as James saw them – impatient, reckless, showy Sirius; arrogant, occasionally cruel, and yet strangely innocent James; quiet, insecure, spectacularly average Peter; and himself, the werewolf, so pleased to find himself with friends that he tried to ignore their actions in order to remain close to them. He also saw that, whatever James thought, the Slytherins were similarly patterned with grey: Snape, however fascinated with the Dark Arts, however friendly with the violent bullying Death Eater-wannabes, was also kind to Lily Evans, helpful when teachers needed it, and clearly loved his mother.

Remus thought he was sure of the truth of his theory about shades of grey, but then, after hearing that Lily and James had been killed, and that Sirius had betrayed them and then gone and murdered Peter, he realised he was wrong. Sirius was no longer a shade of grey, a perfect, human mixture of black and white, light and dark – instead, he'd turned into the personification of what Remus had never believed in, into James's strange, unlikely idea of evil. For some reason this made Remus laugh, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the shock of it all – _Sirius_, James's best friend, the most fiercely loyal and violently anti-Dark Arts of them all? Sirius, who Remus had always thought of as one of the lighter shades of grey, Sirius, funny, boyish, aristocratic, courageous to the point of idiocy – Sirius wasn't a murderer, and he'd _never_ betray James. But what other explanation was there? Clearly, Sirius was just proof that Remus should never have thought about shades of grey at all, because a murdering, betraying Death Eater who'd pretended to be their friend... no, he was nothing if not the darkest, most _evil_ – Remus laughed again at the word 'evil', for it reminded him so of James; James with his simplistic ideas, James who thought of Sirius as pure, innocent, _good_ - but James had been wrong about Sirius, just as they all had been, just as Remus had been wrong about his shades of grey.


	3. Integration

_This took a little longer than I have previously - sorry. I've been getting started on my A-levels, so updates are likely to become a bit more infrequent..._

A cool, bright, clear day. Outside Ancient Runes. Tuesday, 5th March, 1974. Pretty, lightly freckled, red-haired young girl; small, pudgy, mousy-haired young boy. She drops a book in a corridor – it's a deep green, with some black smudges around the edges. He bends down, reaches out a lightly tanned arm, picks it up, hands it to her. They exchange words: "Thank you, Pettigrew." "No problem, Evans." They continue on their way. Nothing's changed.

A chilly, grey, cloudy day. Prefect's carriage, Hogwarts Express. Late morning. Monday, 1st September, 1975. Green-eyed girl sits, listening intently. Blue-eyed boy sits beside her, head in a notebook, scribbling down everything said. Meeting ends. She gets up to leave. He follows. They walk together in a comfortable sort of silence. They're Prefects.

A hot, sticky, humid day. Charms corridor. Sunday, 27th June 1976. Girl, red hair, green eyes, tanned skin. Colourful. Boy, black-haired, grey-eyed, pale. Colourless. He runs into her. She rolls her eyes, scowls, tells him he's an idiot. He apologises, grins, continues chasing his friend. She _hates_ him.

A cold, windy, snowy day. Near the Whomping Willow. Wednesday, 5th January 1977. She, giggling, red-nosed, wrapped up, building a snowman with her friends; he, pink-faced, messy-haired, making snow angels with his friends. She passes him with the snowman's head. He grins up at her, stands up. She rolls over his snow angel. He drops snow down her back. Gasping, freezing, shivering, she breaks a chunk from the head, throws it, hits him. They're friends now.

A warm, bright, sunny day. By the lake. Saturday, 29th April 1978. She's there, pretty and freckled and red-haired. All four of them are there, too: small and mousy; blue-eyed and calm; dark-haired and careless; scruffy and confident. Her socks are off, feet dipped into the lake. They're relaxed – the light-haired boys quizzing each other on Herbology; the dark-haired ones sitting, sharing jokes. She laughs at them, friendly, loving. She's one of them.


	4. Love

October. Crunch, crunch, crunch; the sound of feet on leaves. Reds and oranges and browns. Autumn. Remus, Peter and the girls, inside, hiding among the warm fire and dusty books of the common room, working. James, Sirius and Lily, outside, walking, sharing jokes and pushing each other into piles of leaves. They're seventeen: young, free, full of love and optimism and hope. They can ignore the threat of war – darkness and fear are things for another day, when they grow up.

"I like autumn," says James, and Sirius knows from a conversation that took place back in fifth year that this is because Lily's hair is an "autumn colour". James doesn't remember this though, as two years is an awfully long time to forget things in, and instead says something about summer being too hot, winter too cold, and spring too wet.

"I like autumn too," Lily agrees, but Sirius didn't know this before. "It's a nice temperature, and it's pretty."

Sirius nods, because autumn's his favourite season, too. "We go back to Hogwarts in autumn," he adds. Not that returning to Hogwarts is such a big deal for him these days – since moving in with James, he's loved his summers – but at eleven, twelve, thirteen, Hogwarts meant escape, friendship, brilliance.

James's smile slips off his face. He looks strange when he's serious: there's something oddly _adult_ about him, and there's nothing nearly so wrong as a grown-up Marauder.

"We won't be back here next year," he says, almost a whisper, quiet enough that it could be mistaken for the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Lily and Sirius lose their cheery grins at that, too. "I haven't a clue what I'll be doing," Lily admits, and an expression of nervousness – _fear?_ - crosses her face for the first time. White teeth bite down on light pink lips, almond-shaped green eyes look desperately up at the boys. Sirius, understanding, pulls her into a hug. She smells like biscuits, comforting and warm, and he grins over her shoulder at James.

"You'll be with us," James decides, taking her hand in a sudden fit of Gryffindor courage. She looks down at it, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards slightly.

Sirius nods, his grin back, takes her other hand. "You're stuck with us now, Evans," he says, and glances at James. Lily watches them, fascinated, wondering how it's possible to communicate using just _looks,_ but is lifted into the air before she can work it out. She shrieks. The boys laugh, swinging her into the air by her hands, letting her fall to the ground, lifting her up again.

"You're not getting rid of me either," she agrees, between giggles, "though I do want my hands back." She wrestles her hands from the pair of them, doesn't see James's face fall slightly at the loss of contact – it's brief, fleeting, barely _there_, but Sirius sees it. Sirius sees everything. He always has. Lily's still stood, laughing, unaware of the change of mood. Sirius sighs, and makes a decision.

"Look," he says, and they do. James frowns slightly – he barely even noticed his face change himself, has no idea what Sirius is going to say – but stays quiet. "You'll never do anything if you carry on like this. You're useless, the pair of you," he continues, and James suddenly realises what his friend is doing, can feel his face heating up, turning pink; Lily wonders if it's what she thinks, wonders if Sirius is more observant than he lets on. Sirius sighs again, seeing that neither of them is about to say anything. "You bloody fancy each other! Now please, just snog or something before I die of anticipation!"

Lily's face is suddenly red, only it's a brighter, more pinkish shade of red than her hair; a shade that suggests the warmth of summer rather than falling autumn leaves. James, too, rather resembles a tomato. Neither speaks. Sirius hides his face in his hands, wondering exactly when his best friend and the clever, confident Head Girl became so undeniably _stupid_.

He waits a moment before looking up again. He's glad he does, because finally, _finally_, after two years of hearing James talk about her; after all the weeks of watching Lily become suddenly, unexpectedly awkward around him, they're kissing. And Sirius lets a smile slowly spread on his face, and Lily and James break apart, still red-faced, grinning.

They look away from each other. Remus and Peter are hurrying towards them, having finally finished their work, and maybe it's their giddy happiness, maybe it's an overwhelming _need_ to include the other two, but somehow, without ever consciously deciding to, the group of three is running to the others, and then the others are running too, and five bodies collide in an embrace that somehow expresses their hopefulness, their thankfulness for each other, and the assurance that each of them is needed, trusted, wanted, _loved_.


	5. Insomnia

_I've changed the rating for this chapter, because James and Sirius are teenage boys, and teenage boys swear. Lots. Also, sorry about the wait – updates are likely to be weird, because school is busy._

Blood. Thick, red liquid, dripping steadily from the dark head, trickling its way down the concrete, collecting in a puddle around the body. Fear. Helplessness. Panic. You run, kneel down in the puddle, knees sticky, legs covered in red. It looks like you've fallen in a pot of paint, you think vaguely, and then turn your attention back to the situation at hand. The hair's matted, damp. All you can smell is the metallic scent of iron, of blood. You feel sick. Your mind's a blank, you want to help, you _need_ to help, because it's _him_, and you don't even know if you'd be able to exist without him, and you're panicking and he's _dying_, and -

"Sirius," someone hisses. You open your eyes. It's dark. James is sat on your bed, trying to get you to wake up. You don't move for a moment, letting powerful waves of relief crash over you. _He's alive. He's fine. Nothing's happened._

"Sirius," he hisses again, shaking you slightly. You sit up now.

"What?"

"Couldn't sleep," he says, and even in the dark you can tell he's smiling sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes, but don't say anything. You don't mind. You both make sacrifices for each other_ – _he puts up with the fact that you're related to a bunch of fucking _morons_, your habit of leaving your possessions on his bed, and having you adopt his parents as your own; you put up with his illegible handwriting, his hair-ruffling habit, and the occasional lack of sleep caused by having an insomniac wake you every so often. It's worth it: he may be a show-off, an idiot, impatient, lazy and a bit of an attention-seeker; but he's clever, funny, trusting in an almost innocent way, and if he decides he likes someone, he'll always be on their side. You're not really sure what possesses him to do the same for you – after all, you're annoying, loud, and you cause so much inconvenience – but you're really quite glad he does.

"So you needed me to entertain you?"

He hits you. "I was bored!"

"Couldn't you have woken Remus or Pete?"

This throws him off. He goes silent, and you can see a frown develop on his face – your eyes are getting used to the dark.

"I didn't think of that," he says eventually. "I think they'd take it worse than you, though."

"Probably," you agree. "I'm kind of glad you did wake me up, though."

He looks at you, eyebrows creased, biting his lip in a pensive sort of way.

"Dream," you add as a form of explanation.

"Lucky you," he mutters darkly. "Wish I could bloody dream."

You think that if you were girls, you'd probably hug him now. But you're not, you're Sirius Black, and there's an unwritten rule about hugging: you're not allowed to initiate, unless the other party is really upset. It's a rule you've bestowed upon yourself. Hugging feels far too much like showing emotion, and you're not too good at that, either. Except with James.

"Even dreams involving bloody and violent death?" you ask.

He becomes more attentive at this. Sits straighter, moves slightly closer, places his hand on your wrist. That would be awkward if it was anyone else. With James, though, personal space rules don't quite exist in the same way they do with other people.

"Who?" he asks. He doesn't sound worried, or anxious, or nervous – just questioning.

"You," you say. There's an intake of breath, sharp, but you can't quite put an emotion on it.

"What were you dreaming that for?"

"Would you rather I'd dreamt about snogging Evans or something?" you ask, slightly irritable.

He, maturely, sticks out his tongue at you. "Fuck off."

Someone stirs. You freeze, both of you, silent, hoping you haven't woken either of the others – but the noise turns into sleep-mumbling, and, eventually, snoring.

"Let's go down to the common room," you suggest. As you expected, it's empty: half-finished card houses stand next to rolls of parchment covered with scribbles; books are thrown haphazardly around the place; someone's cat is curled up on a chair. You sit by it, absent-mindedly stroke it, talk. You realise he's not responding. He's fallen asleep, head on the arm of a sofa, snoring.

"Bloody idiot," you mutter. You stay there, because you can't leave him to be found alone in those ridiculous heart-patterned pyjamas he's wearing; and, eventually, you drift off too.

This time, he's alive in your dream, winning at Quidditch against the Slytherins.


	6. Halloween

Sirius was glad he'd agreed to check on Peter that evening. 'Checking on Peter' would probably turn into 'staying at Peter's and getting rather drunk', which was a great improvement on spending Halloween completely alone. Of course, he would be alone for most of the day, but he was used to that, these days. He'd seen James and Lily three times this week. Funny, really, how that seemed like a lot now; whereas a year ago, that would have been unthinkable. _Two days_ had seemed like a long time, back then. Sirius sighed, and looked back over his latest letter from Lily.

xxx

James was bored. Lily was sleeping. Harry was sleeping. He was stuck, sat at the kitchen table, _doodling,_ because he had nothing else to do.

"Morning," yawned Lily as she entered the kitchen. She peered over his shoulder at his doodles, and giggled. "Oh, I wish," she said, pointing to the drawing of Voldemort being massacred by a group of animals.

"Mmm," James agreed. "I particularly like the antlers being shoved in his face, don't you agree?"

xxx

Remus hated Halloween. Especially this year. Usually, he overlooked the ridiculousness of celebrating a holiday about something as negative as _fear_, because his friends were there to make fun of it. This year, he was alone, because, for reasons best known to himself, Voldemort had decided that his best friend's year-old son was a bigger threat to him than Albus fucking Dumbledore. Remus had absolutely no idea what was wrong with Voldemort, apart from the obvious psychopathy, but did he have to chase after _them_? Apart from the fact that he was terrified for them, for Sirius as their Secret-Keeper, for Harry; he was _lonely_.

xxx

Peter felt sick. He'd been Secret-Keeper for Lily and James for, what, two days? And then Voldemort had called a meeting, had asked, and – oh, fucking hell, what had he _done_? He hadn't even argued, hadn't even _tried _to keep the information. It had just come out. And oh, Merlin, oh, Merlin, Lily and James were going to – he couldn't say it, couldn't even think it. And Sirius would know, because it was his _idea_, and then Sirius would_ kill _him. And, worst of all, Peter couldn't really think of a reason why he wouldn't deserve it.

xxx

Sirius thought it was about time he went to check on Peter. After all, he was bored and lonely, and Peter probably was, too. It was sort of a shame that Remus and James couldn't come along too, he reflected, but then seeing as he sort of suspected that Remus might – _maybe, but please not, please_ – be the spy, and James was in hiding, that might not be the best idea.

Peter's was empty. But – but the door was fine; the furniture was all okay, there was no Dark Mark, nothing to say he'd been dragged off. _Maybe he's just out_, Sirius told himself, trying to calm the panic, trying not to believe that Peter would ever, ever do something like this. _Maybe he's visiting Dumbledore._

Just in case, though, Sirius jumped back onto his motorbike and headed for Godric's Hollow.

xxx

Remus was sleeping. Dreaming. Werewolf and dog and stag and rat, running around the grounds of Hogwarts, around Hogsmeade. Happy.

xxx

Peter was making a plan. He knew what had happened, was trying to stem the tears falling down his face (_James and Lily_, oh, what had he done?). He knew that Sirius would know by morning. And maybe if he did this properly, Sirius could be blamed (but whoever would believe that?), maybe he could fake his death (what was he _doing_? Why was he blaming this on Sirius, of all people?), maybe he could get away with it.

xxx

Harry was crying when Sirius arrived. And when Hagrid had gone, Sirius was too.


	7. Beginnings

When Lily had chosen to continue Divination through to NEWT level, she had been expecting two more years of being able to achieve Os and Es simply by being both imaginative and convincing. Apparently, this was not the case, and NEWT-level Divination involved theory, and understanding the principles behind the art of Divination. As if this wasn't bad enough, none of Lily's friends had been stupid enough to take the bloody subject – they'd all continued with sensible things, like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, leaving Lily in a class with a couple of Hufflepuffs she'd spoken to only once or twice; three best friends in Ravenclaw who barely acknowledged anybody else; a few Slytherins; and Sirius Black.

Sirius, who had decided to sit next to Lily (whether this was an attempt at house unity or because he just disliked the others more, Lily wasn't sure) seemed similarly displeased with the situation. He was scowling down at the textbook as he attempted to find the answer to question three ("Why are crystal balls made of crystal, and how does this improve a Seer's ability to See?") in their first lesson.

"Are you on three?" Lily asked him. She already knew that he was, of course, but it was the easiest and quickest way to make conversation. No matter how much she'd claimed to dislike the boy over the years, Lily felt that a dull lesson always passed faster with somebody to chat to, and Sirius was currently the best option.

"Yeah," Sirius replied somewhat absent-mindedly, continuing to scowl at his book.

"I've just found the answer to that – it's at the top, just there," she said, indicating the area on the page with her finger.

Sirius looked up, a look of slight surprise on his face. "Thanks," he said, and scribbled the answer down.

"There's no need to look so shocked, you know," Lily began, and was going to continue – though quite what she was going to say, she was unsure – when Sirius interrupted.

"Seeing as you've hated me for the past five years, I'd say there is," he said, a cheeky grin appearing on his face.

Lily returned the grin, laughing slightly in the breathy, not-quite-a-proper-laugh sort of way. She'd probably find her friends later, tell them that _"Sirius Black was _nice_ to me in Divination!"_ in a surprised, disbelieving sort of way, and expect him to return to his usual infuriatingly rude behaviour before long. Still, for now, they were having a civilised discussion, and she found that she was rather enjoying it. Perhaps the lesson would be over soon, after all.

"You are rather irritating," she conceded, "but I don't _hate_ you. You're much better company than that lot."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you."

Before Lily could respond, Professor Yolland had appeared at their table. "I hope you're working over here. Saunders and Fox are on question seven already!"

"I'm stuck on four, sir," Sirius said, as Lily returned quickly to her work, realising that she'd misread question one, and therefore got the answer completely wrong.

"The answer's at the bottom of page seven," Yolland said, and turned to Lily. "How are you getting along, Evans?"

"I've just realised I got one wrong, but I'm about to start four as well," she informed him without looking up from her parchment. She imagined he was frowning disapprovingly at her, and she had no intention of seeing_ that_. She scribbled down the answer to question four, and he left, apparently to check on the group of chatty Ravenclaws.

"Five's 'palm-reading'," Sirius announced. Lily added this answer underneath the others, and looked up to thank him. She then glanced back at her work, and giggled suddenly.

"What's funny?" Sirius asked.

Lily pulled a face. "I just misspelt 'palm' as 'pam'," she admitted. Sirius chuckled.

"Nice, Evans. And I thought you were intelligent."

Pretending to be offended, Lily went back to her work. "I'll have you know I got nothing less than an 'E' in my OWLs."

"Whereas I failed History of Magic by not revising, but had much more fun over the exam period," Sirius pointed out cheerily. "Have you done six yet?"

Lily shook her head, and said vaguely, "I like History of Magic."

Yolland came over again, preventing Sirius from giving a response. He looked over Lily's answers, nodding at her half-finished paragraph on tea leaf reading; frowned slightly at Sirius's two sentences, and then cleared his throat to catch the attention of the class.

"I want the rest of the questions answered for homework, but the bell will be going shortly, so you may leave."

Predictably, the class packed away as quickly as possible to make their way down to lunch, leaving Lily, eternally slow at packing up, to leave the room last. Slightly less predictably, she found Sirius stood by the stairs as she descended the ladder from the classroom.

"Are you waiting for me?" she asked in surprise.

"Would you rather walk alone?" he countered, as they walked down the stairs together. Lily shrugged, and, as they made their way to the Great Hall, wondered if this new acquaintanceship would be continuing.


	8. Christmas

Christmas in the Lupin family followed no particular tradition. In fact, it could be said that they had a tradition of no tradition. This year-to-year difference in celebration was partly due to the fact that the youngest Lupin was a werewolf, and if the full moon was close to Christmas Day, it would be a quiet, lazy sort of day in which the family read and listened to the WWN, because Remus was likely to be tired and ill on such days. If, however, Christmas happened to take place a long time from a full moon, the day would often involve lots of noise, running around, and perhaps visitors – occasionally even other children, giving Remus a playmate of his own age. This type of Christmas was Remus's favourite, simply because it meant he could properly enjoy the day without the threat of a full moon.

Petunia adored Christmas. It was the one day of the year that she didn't mind being woken early by Lily – instead, she would scramble out of bed, take her stocking carefully from the end of her bed, and she and Lily would creep carefully across the dark corridor to Lily's room, where they would turn on the coloured fairy lights (somehow, turning the proper light on would seem to ruin the magic), and take it in turns to peel the sellotape off their presents, making each one last as long as possible. It would be several hours before they were allowed to wake their parents, show them what Santa had given them, and open the presents under the tree. That part was just as wonderful, though: the entire family diving in, opening presents all at once, a messy, unstructured, excitable discovery; the sort Petunia usually detested. But it was Christmas, and one day a year, she loved the mess.

The Pettigrew parents often worried about their Peter being an only child. For one thing, it meant that he had no one of his own age to interact with on a daily basis, and for another, they worried that Peter would feel lonely on Christmas mornings – both the elder Pettigrews had been one of three, and both remembered Christmases fondly as times of brief harmony between their siblings, a universal feeling of excitement. It was this reason that led the Pettigrews to spend every Christmas with one of their families, ensuring that Peter shared a bedroom with at least one cousin every Christmas Eve. Peter's early Christmases, therefore, involved being kept up late and awoken early by a different cousin each year, which often led to him being so tired that he fell asleep during breakfast, and was the reason that Peter held a lifelong hatred of all his cousins.

The Black family Christmases were very controlled. The young boys would not be allowed downstairs until eight o'clock in the morning, and would have to wait until they had eaten breakfast and their cousins had arrived before being allowed to go under the Christmas tree. The boys, however, being young and rebellious, would wake early on Christmas mornings and sneak downstairs. Each would take just one present and unwrap it just for the sheer pleasure of finding out what it was, before re-wrapping them and returning to one of their bedrooms to play quietly until Mother told them they were allowed to come downstairs.


	9. Tears

The first time James heard another Marauder cry, they weren't even Marauders yet. He was sat in bed, curtains closed, leaning up against his pillows, scowling. It was half past eleven at night, it was dark, and he was _bloody sick_ of trying to get to sleep. It didn't help that he could hear snoring, either. James hadn't factored sleep noises into the equation when becoming ridiculously excited by the idea of coming to Hogwarts and sleeping in a dormitory.

But then, as he was staring at his curtains, twitching in an irritated sort of way every time one of the other boys made a noise, he realised that it wasn't just mumbles and snores. There was something else, and James had a funny feeling it was a _crying_ noise. He wasn't really sure what to do about that though; he was an only child, and had little experience of being around crying people. After a few minutes though, it became clear to him that he had to do something – something was obviously bothering the kid, and ignoring it wouldn't help. Besides, what if they ended up as best friends, and then James would feel eternally guilty for not doing something that first night they knew each other.

On that thought, James poked his head through his curtains. The first thing he noticed was that one of the boys had left his curtains open. Without moving (except to lean forward slightly and squint), James made out that it was the boy was his friend from the train, Sirius, with the Slytherin family; but he was deeply asleep. James looked across at the other two beds, but both had their curtains drawn. James sighed. Of course they had to make it difficult.

"Pssst," James hissed. "Oi!"

A head appeared from between some curtains. The blond, chubby boy. Peter.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" he asked, worried, sniffling.

James shook his head. "I can't sleep anyway," he shrugged. "Are you okay? It kind of sounded like you were crying."

Peter sniffed again. "I just realised this is the first time I've slept away from my mum," he said, and then quickly added, "but I'm fine," as though worried that James might make fun of him.

"Oh." James wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "You can always write to her in the morning. Um, I hope you're okay soon."

There was a pause, in which the boys just looked at each other awkwardly in the dark, and then Peter sniffed one more time.

"Thanks," he said, wiping his eyes. "I'm gonna try and get some sleep now. Uh, night."

"Night," James replied, and both boys retreated back behind their curtains in an attempt to get back to sleep.

xxx

It was only a few weeks later that James himself ended up in tears. It was late September, and the Quidditch Captain, a big sixth-year boy, had called tryouts. Being first-years, none of the other boys bothered to try, seeing as their competition were sure to be significantly older and better at the sport than they; but James had never been told he was anything less than wonderful, and didn't even consider the fact that, as a first-year, he'd have to use a school broomstick. Even watching the other hopefuls didn't bother James: he was still confident that he was somehow better than them.

And then he had to do it, on a school broom. And he realised how awful the school brooms really were compared to the top-of-the-range models everybody else had used. And, angry and frustrated, he was already trying to hold in tears when the Captain told him that he was sorry, but James hadn't made the team this year. James nodded, desperately trying to keep any sign of tears from leaving his eyes, and half-ran back to his dormitory in an attempt to avoid people.

"How'd you do?" Sirius asked excitedly, turning away from their game of Exploding Snap in order to look at his friend. "...oh. You didn't make it, then?"

James shook his head, having long ago given up on trying to hold in his tears.

"You can always try next year," Remus said cautiously; clearly unsure about what to do.

Peter nodded. "Yeah – you can bring your own broom then!"

James wiped his eyes, sniffed, and joined them. "Yeah. So who's winning?"

xxx

The first time the boys saw Remus cry, James was already in tears. It was their second year, only a few days before Sirius's thirteenth birthday, and three of the boys were in their dormitory, having a discussion about their fourth friend.

"He _is_ a werewolf, James," Peter insisted.

"No he's not! He'd have _told_ us," James said for what seemed like the eightieth time. "Marauders tell each other everything, remember?"

"All the evidence points to it! He's always gone at full moon, he always comes back kind of scratched, and if you mention the word in front of him he goes all funny. _You _pointed that one out!" Sirius cried, gesturing wildly.

"But we're his friends, he'd tell us," James repeated, starting to cry in frustration. The other boys ignored this – having known him for a year, they knew that James often cried (he claimed that it was a stupid thing to be ashamed of, and besides, it made him feel better, so they could all bugger off if they were going to tease him about it), and that it didn't necessarily mean that he was upset.

Sirius and Peter shared a look, clearly irritated by James's bloody stupid naïvety, and then the door opened.

"What are you all doing up here?" Remus asked, frowning. "You avoiding me?"

James, Sirius and Peter just looked at each other, at a loss as to what to say.

"What?" Remus asked again, after a long pause. He moved to sit next to Peter on Sirius's bed. "Are you okay, James?"

James didn't answer. Peter, however, spoke. "Are you a werewolf?"

Sirius's eyes widened in slight alarm; James choked on a sob; and Remus froze. He paled slightly, looked around at all three of the others, and then shook his head.

"No. What makes you think that?"

"See!" James said, "I _told _you! He'd have told us if he was!"

Sirius and Peter, however, were paying a bit more attention to Remus than James was.

"You're lying," Peter said simply.

Remus closed his eyes, bit his lip. "I'm not!"

"You're always gone at full moon," Sirius said. "You always go funny if anyone says 'werewolf'. You're covered in scratches. We're not stupid, you know."

Remus looked around at them again, and, not knowing how else to react, began to cry.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I can go and tell Dumbledore to move me somewhere else, I can go and … I don't know, I suppose I can get him to put me in different classes, just _please_ don't tell anyone."

The other boys just stared at him.

"What are you talking about?" James asked, having stopped crying out of shock.

"I get it, you don't want to be friends with me any more – and I understand, course I do -"

"Of course we want to be your friend," Sirius said. "Why wouldn't we?"

Remus frowned. "I'm a _werewolf_," he said, as though it was obvious.

"Yeah, and James is an insomniac, but we're still friends with him," Sirius pointed out.

"That's completely different!"

"No it's not. He always wakes me up in the middle of the night to _have a chat_. You just turn into a big hairy thing once a month. James's problem is _much_ more annoying," Sirius grinned.

Remus stared at him, frowning, not quite understanding.

"We don't _care _about it," Peter said. "Well, we do – but it's not something we'd stop being your friend for."

James nodded his agreement. "It's not changed anything. It just means we understand you better."

This only made Remus cry harder, so that they could barely understand the "_thanks,_" he sobbed at them before making his way to the bathroom.

xxx

It was years before James ever saw Sirius cry – so long, in fact, that even James's tears had become a rare sight; and none of them ever really noticed that Sirius hadn't cried in front of them.

It was almost two o'clock in the morning, and James was laying face down on his bed, an ancient issue of _Which Broomstick_ on his pillow, and a small black kitten curled up on his legs. He was trying to concentrate on the 'brand new' Shooting Star (which was, in fact, at least six years out of date), but kept getting rather distracted by the sound of heavy rain and – _was that a stone?_

James, secretly rather pleased to have something slightly more interesting to do, removed the sleeping cat from his legs (it glared at him before curling up again on his duvet), climbed out of bed and peered through the window. Luckily it was closed, for James thought he might have fallen out of it in shock if it had been open: outside, throwing things at his bedroom window, was a rather damp young man with what looked like all his possessions.

"What in the name of Merlin...?" James muttered to himself, and then hurtled downstairs to open the front door.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded, as the boy came inside, shivering and dripping water all over the place.

"I ran away," he said, and his voice sounded _odd_. "I thought -" he paused, took a shaky breath, "I thought you wouldn't mind, you know, being woken up at this time. You do it to me often enough."

He was babbling, smiling weakly, and James noticed his eyes were slightly red.

"Are you _crying_?" James asked, surprised, because he suddenly realised that he'd never seen him cry, ever. He cringed, because _did he have to be so tactless?_ He'd known the boy five years, had never seen him cry before, of course he wouldn't want such _stupid bloody idiotic remarks_ made.

Sirius ignored the question, and James mentally sighed with relief. "I, um. You don't mind, do you? If I stay, I mean. Not forever – just tonight -"

"You're not going anywhere," James growled, because how could he let his best friend, his sixteen-year-old, _crying_ best friend find his own place when he had just run away from his_ stupid horrible pure-blood supremacist_ family? "I'll get you a towel so you can dry off, and I'll get the mattress from the spare room, and you can sleep in my room. And I don't just mean tonight."

James then found himself wrapped up in a pair of damp arms and pressed closely to a dripping wet shirt.

"That doesn't mean you can _hug_ me. I was quite happy being dry before."

Sirius chuckled through the tears that were still falling, and both boys realised that, whatever happened, it would be okay, for they'd always have each other.


	10. Observing

Potions, fifth-year. They're working in pairs: Sirius and Peter, at the back; James and Remus, at the desk in front of them. At the next desk are Lily Evans and Snape, and Remus is a little worried, at the beginning of the lesson, when he notices that James keeps looking over at them. Nothing happens, though – nothing is thrown at their cauldron, none of their ingredients are nicked. Remus is confused.

Next lesson, Remus ends up working with Sirius, at the back, and Peter and James are in front of them. Lily and Snape are in the same place as before, and Remus notices that James still keeps sending glances towards them.

"Are you planning something?" Remus asks Sirius, after seeing James glance over yet again.

Sirius frowns. "No, not yet. Why?"

Remus nods to the pair in front of them. "James has been looking at Evans and Snape all lesson."

Strangely, Sirius grins. "Oh, that is _brilliant_."

Remus waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I noticed him looking at her weeks ago, but I thought I was just being stupid, but if you've noticed too..." Sirius trails off, eyes alight with triumph or mischief – Remus isn't quite sure which. "I bet he hasn't noticed himself yet, though," he adds, sounding oddly affectionate, and then notices that Remus is staring at him in total confusion. "Haven't you worked it out yet?"

"Still confused," Remus says, and, noticing that Slughorn's coming around, throws a spider's leg into their potion.

"He fancies Evans," Sirius says gleefully.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Remus frowns. "If he fancied her, surely he would be the one to notice first?"

Sirius shakes his head. "Maybe with normal people," he concedes, "but we are talking about _James Potter. _He has to be told these things."

xxx

Remus still isn't sure he believes this, but he watches James more closely anyway. He notices James look at Lily six times at dinner, and then a further nine times in the first half-hour of being in the common room. Remus and Sirius share grins each time they see him look at her, and are suppressing laughter by the fourth.

Needless to say, James and Peter aren't best pleased at not being included in the joke.

"What's funny?" Peter demands.

"Oh, nothing," Remus lies, and Sirius rolls his eyes.

"Might as well just tell them the truth now," he says, slightly grumpy, because James and Peter are looking thoroughly unconvinced by Remus's lie. "It's not even that exciting."

Remus sees James's eyes flick to the left, where Lily and Emily Shepherd are chatting. He grins.

"It just happened again," he says, looking at Sirius, much to the irritation of James and Peter.

Sirius nods, also grinning, eyes trained on James, eyebrows slightly raised. "You fancy Evans," he says simply.

James doesn't confirm or deny, instead choosing to retort with, "Peter fancies Macdonald."

xxx

As time passes, James becomes more open about his feelings for Lily, and Peter begins a relationship with Mary Macdonald. Remus begins to think more about the red-haired object of James's affections, wondering exactly what it is that draws James to her. She's a Prefect, but, like Remus, possibly not the best girl for the job: while she's certainly hard-working and polite, she's chatty, cheeky, gets a few too many detentions. Unlike Remus, though, there are Gryffindor girls who are probably a little better suited to the role. Emily Shepherd has only ever lost five points in all her years at school, has never had a detention, hasn't missed a single piece of homework. Then again, Remus thinks, Shepherd is quiet, probably too quiet to tell off older students or even students in her own year. Lily's more confident, more likely to speak her mind. But not too confident, Remus thinks. She doesn't think she's the best thing in the world, not like that Hooper in Slytherin. And she's pretty, with all that red hair, and those big, green eyes …

"Fuck," Remus mutters to himself in Arithmancy, the one subject in which he happens to sit next to the very redhead he's just been thinking about.

"Are you okay?" Lily asks him, slightly concerned.

Remus nods. "Fine."

He's only gone and started bloody _fancying her_, after all. And he can't do anything about it because James fancied her first.


	11. Understanding

He's always wished he could be more like the others.

Not out loud, of course; he'd never _admit_ something like that. He supposes that's part of the problem, really: he's so closed, has spent so long being told that emotions aren't to be shown, that he keeps everything inside. Course, he's not brilliant at _hiding _his emotions – or perhaps they just know him too well – but he's very good at avoiding the subject, at not saying things. And sometimes, all that internalisation gets to be a bit _too much_. Sometimes, he can't keep his everything locked up inside himself, sometimes things spill over, sometimes he ends up doing something stupid, something reckless, something impulsive. Something like telling Snape about the knot on the Whomping Willow. Something that makes him _hate _himself, because _what sort of fucking idiot would do that?_ He hates that he does things without thinking, that he lets his _fucking feelings_ get the better of him, rather than just doing what James would do, and talking about it.

Course, he'd never admit that either. He's always teasing James about being such a _bloody girl_ for wanting to talk everything through. To contradict that would be hypocritical.

But it would be so much easier, if he could just talk. Preferably at the time rather than later, when the boys have cornered him after the event, when Peter's angry and James is worried and Remus isn't really sure whether to be upset or disappointed or _terrified_ that he'll do the same again. He doesn't really have a choice about talking then, because the alternative is them _hating_ him, and even just thinking about that is a little too much.

They understand, of course, though he half-hopes they won't. He doesn't really understand it himself, doesn't get why he sometimes feels so out of control of his own actions, and he _hates_ his _stupid fucking impulsiveness_. He sort of wants them to hate it, too.

He's also a little surprised. James, he expects to understand, because James is_ like _that. James _gets_ him, was worried about him rather than angry, and has such black-and-white views on things that he couldn't hate _him_, not when he's firmly placed in the "white" side. Remus, too, he expects will forgive him relatively quickly, because that's just the sort of person Remus is. Peter, though, is supposed to be the perpetually cheerful one, the one who's never had an irrational feeling in his life, the least likely person to understand his _bloody fucking stupid_ actions, his inability to just _think_ before acting.

Yet, Peter understands, too, and that makes him think. Maybe he's underestimated Peter. Maybe Peter is like him, hides things, but is just a little better at hiding the emotions that go with them. Maybe Peter _doesn't_ tell them everything.


	12. Divide

Peter never imagined that a sentence would change his life. Language was just a tool, something that could be used or not used. Words were for sharing ideas for pranks, or reassuring people that it didn't _matter _that they were a werewolf. They couldn't really _do_ anything.

He also never imagined that something he did at the age of twenty-one would define the course of the rest of his life. He'd sort of figured that he'd join the fight, and eventually – somehow, he hadn't really thought about _how _– You-Know-Who would be defeated. He and his friends (they'd all still be alive, of course; at fifteen, he'd never quite considered the possibility of any of them not making it) would then go and get jobs. James might play Quidditch, maybe for England; and if that happened, Sirius would surely be his manager, or have a column in the _Daily Prophet_, reporting on James's team. The pair of them couldn't be separated, of course. Or perhaps the four of them could do something together: they could go travelling together, and send reports on the places they went back to the newspapers. Maybe they'd be Aurors. Whatever happened, Peter was sure they'd remain friends.

Funny, he thought later, how none of it quite went to plan.

Course, they did go straight into fighting after leaving school: all four of them, plus Lily, joined the Order of the Phoenix. And for a while, it felt like they were doing something useful, felt exciting, adventurous, everything that would appeal to a group of eighteen-year-old Gryffindors.

Then, at nineteen, Lily fell pregnant. She and James married not long before her twentieth birthday, and then, in summer, the baby was born. Harry. And suddenly, the war became much more _real_. Because that boy, that tiny, tiny baby... he could be killed. Merlin, they were all at risk, and how hadn't they noticed? What the fuck were they _doing_? Twenty years old, the lot of them, two years out of school, and they were fighting a war, and people were _dying_, and -

That autumn was when Peter was asked to join him. You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord.

Peter thought that maybe, this way, he could help. He could spy for the Order. He could beg him to keep his friends, that tiny baby boy, alive.

That didn't quite work out how he'd planned, either. He drew people in. Peter, while still repulsed by the things he did, half-felt as though he wanted to please the man (was he a man? He was certainly male, but … he didn't look human). More and more divided he became; more and more he'd tell the Dark Lord; and the longer he put off telling the Order. _What kind of a fucking spy are you? You're becoming part of _their_ side_, he'd think, hating himself, resenting his friends, confused, wishing he'd had the strength to say no in the first place.

Harry turned one. Dumbledore began to realise there was a spy among the Order. Peter noticed that, while he saw Sirius and Remus fairly regularly, he hadn't seen James and Lily for a while.

One day, out of the blue, late October, Sirius turned up at Peter's flat. Apparently Lily and James were in hiding, Voldemort (Peter hated that his friends used that name) was after them, and could Peter please be Secret-Keeper?

"Why not you?" Peter had asked, frowning, confused.

Sirius had smiled wryly. "They'll be expecting that, won't they? Besides, Remus knows, and I think -" he'd paused, pulled a face, and it was almost as though he was trying to avoid _tears _- "I think he might be the spy," he'd continued.

Peter hadn't said anything to that, just pulled a worried expression onto his face.

"I'll do it," he'd agreed.

And then, the Dark Lord had pressed his Dark Mark, and off Peter had gone to his Master's side like a good little servant. And he just _fucking told him_, like he'd said every fucking other thing, like it wasn't his best friend's death warrant he'd just gone and signed.

Of course, that was the moment that changed everything. Cause surely, after that, when Lily and James and _Harry_, the tiny, innocent little boy, were killed, they Order would work it out. Sirius would point in his direction. Peter would be sent to Azkaban and the Dark Lord would still be around and maybe Sirius and Remus would end up dead too, and -

That didn't happen either. Because the Dark Lord lost his powers, and Peter managed to place the blame on Sirius, poor Sirius who'd been nothing but loyal, Sirius who'd just lost his best friend because of Peter, Sirius who was _completely fucking innocent_. And Peter was feeling sorry for himself again, sitting in the sewers in rat form, thinking about how much it had hurt to cut off his finger.

That was the moment when he realised what he'd become. A Death Eater. A Slytherin. Feeling sorry for himself when he'd single-handedly ruined the lives of everyone he cared about. Remus, all alone by now. Sirius, on his way to Azkaban. James, who had always been so friendly, so funny, was dead. Lily, fiery, full of life, was dead. Harry, fifteen months old, so tiny, would … well, Peter wasn't sure what would happen to him.

He'd stay a rat, he decided. Maybe he could get taken in by a family, become a child's pet, bring some happiness to someone; because God knows it was about time he did something good.


	13. Family

_I am** so** sorry about the lack of updates! I was just finding it ridiculously difficult to get past the first few sentences... on the upside, in my attempts to write this chapter I've created loads of chapter-beginnings which should mean that new chapters are a bit more regular for a while. I hope you enjoy this chapter! _

* * *

It's funny, Sirius thinks, how much can change in just a few months. In the past seven months alone, he and two of his best friends had mastered Animagus transformation; he'd taken (and passed!) his O.W.L.s; he'd been all but adopted by the Potters; and his relationship with Lily Evans had changed from mutual dislike to a friendship of sorts, just by sitting with her in thrice-weekly Divination lessons for two months. They'd even begun calling each other by their first names.

He watches her work for a few moments, the end of her red ponytail in her mouth as she concentrates, contemplating the sheer madness of the fact that she no longer harboured any sort of murderous feelings towards him or any of his friends.

Lily looks up, catching his eye, and grins. "What are you staring at?"

"Oh, just some ginger," he says playfully, and then, as she opens her mouth to protest, "I _know _you're not ginger! I just like bothering you!"

She sends him a look of mock-disgust before returning to her work.

"So, is your whole family ginger, or is it just you?"

"Kindly go away. But no, for your information, my mum and sister are blonde. Why, are your whole family … black?" she says, before frowning as she realises what she's said. "Oh, shut up, you _know_ I was talking about hair colour," she adds as he snorts.

"Surprisingly enough, my relatives _do_ share my surname! But no one cares about them, so I think the important point here is that you have a sister that I've never heard of."

He looks at her expectantly as she continues writing. Her eyes don't leave her parchment as she informs him that Petunia is a Muggle, so it's highly unlikely that he'd have heard of her.

"Really?" For some reason, Sirius looks rather thoughtful at this information. "I kind of wish Reg was a Muggle," he adds, sounding rather regretful. "Well, a Squib. We'd probably get on a little better … and he could've come with me when I moved in with James."

Lily looks up from her work at this, somewhat surprised. Sirius doesn't often talk about his relatives; at least, not seriously. Not to her, at any rate. She expects his boys (as she's come to refer to his friends in her head) know a few more details.

"Funny," she says in a tone which suggests that it's anything of the sort. "I always wished Petunia was a witch."

Sirius frowns. "I s'pose you don't see her very often," he says rather hesitantly. Lily, looking at him, fiddles with the loose hairs framing her face.

"Yes," she begins, biting her lip a little, wondering how she'd come to be talking to Sirius Black about her sister, a subject she'd only really spoken with Severus about. "And I imagine she'd be a bit less inclined to call me a 'freak' if she was one, too."

Sirius stares. "Oh." And then he laughs a little. "We should give your sister to Regulus. He could hate her for being a Muggle, she could hate him for being a wizard, and then you could be my Divination-loving ginger sister."

Lily giggles. "We'll have my parents, but we'll have to live in your house, because Sev -" she pauses, then corrects herself, "- _Snape_ lives near me."

Professor Yolland begins to make his way over to their table, and the pair of them turn quickly back to the textbook they're supposed to be answering questions from. They work in silence for a few minutes while the professor watches them, and begin talking in whispers as he leaves.

"You know, my house is James's house," Sirius says slowly.

Lily shrugs. "I didn't really expect you to ditch your three brothers for a sister. I just hope you're all super-nice to me because I'm the only girl in the family."

The two of them share a grin and a chuckle, and start talking about something else. The matter isn't mentioned again until that evening, when Lily's sitting in the common room with the girls, and Sirius is with his boys in front of the fire.

"We've got a sister," Sirius informs them lazily, lifting his head a little from its position on Peter's feet.

"I didn't realise we were related," Remus says, raising his eyebrows a little. James throws a cushion at him. Peter fixes him with a look that clearly says, 'Remus, you are stupid.'

"I'm not even going to respond to that," says Sirius in a mock-irritable tone. "But dear, sweet, ginger Lily has adopted us as her brothers."

Remus looks rather pleasantly surprised. Peter smirks a little, catching Sirius's eye and nodding towards James.

"But I don't want to be practicing incest," James whines, pouting in a way somewhat reminiscent of a two-year-old. "Can she be our step-sister instead?"

"Only if you want me to be your step-brother," Sirius says cheerily. James scowls.

"If it's any consolation, there won't be any incest, she doesn't fancy you," Peter says, leaning over Sirius to pat James on the arm. Unsurprisingly, this doesn't seem to cheer James up.

"You're not really related anyway, so it wouldn't be incest at all," Remus points out, grinning at the disapproving glares he receives. "Besides, at least she likes you enough to _want_ to be related to you these days."

"S'pose," James concedes, looking slightly more cheerful, and moves his legs so that they're on top of Remus's, grinning annoyingly when Remus frowns.


End file.
